


Hearth Fire (Welcome Home)

by stapling_pages



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: (his name is Tom), Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Redemption, Reincarnation, Slow Build, Tom Riddle Has Sky Flames, Tom Riddle is a Sawada, Tom Still Has Magic, Tsuna Has An Older Brother
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 20:52:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15938057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stapling_pages/pseuds/stapling_pages
Summary: In which a wish is made, family is found, and Tom Riddle survives until he doesn't have to.OR: Tsuna has a big brother who is made of nightmares and magic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know. I'd apologize but I'm not sorry.

When Tsuna turns seven, nearly two years after the fever-cold nightmare of Sawada Iemitsu’s visit, Kaa-chan sets a cake for two on the table. It’s an orange and white monstrosity of sugar—Kaa-chan’s first attempt at cake decorating—with cherries and strawberries. Kaa-chan lights the candles with a steady hand, teasing smile worn in a way it wasn’t two years ago, and Tsuna—

Tsuna bites back a wave of tears. Everything has gone wrong for them, it seems.

Two years ago, after that man’s visit, the world had gone cold for Tsuna, hazy and distant, frightening in a way he can’t name. Two years ago, a handful of other kids had come to his birthday . . . but now, they don’t want anything to do with him.

Kaa-chan cries at night, when she thinks he’s asleep. The ladies Kaa-chan used to have lunch with have turned cold. The phone calls Kaa-chan has made remain unanswered.

He stares at the lit candles, takes a deep breath. There are some many things he could wish for but—there’s only one thing he _wants_ , more than anything, with every last scrap of desperate longing Tsuna can still manage through the haze of cold.

 _I want Kaa-chan to be happy again._ Tears well but don’t fall. **_I_** _want to be happy again._

He blinks. Swallows down a choking swell of bitterness. Takes another breath.

_Please._

Tsuna blows out the candles.

They spend the rest of his birthday at home, playing games and watching movies, mother and son, alone in a world of two. A quiet rebellion against cold eyes and snide words, a rebellion against the world that demands their misery.

October closes, November follows.

At school, mean words turn into stolen lunches, shoves in the halls, being tripped at recess. A once maybe-friend, Yamamoto Takeshi, looks him square in the eyes, all smiles and rainbows, and calls him “Dame-Tsuna.” Soon, it’s easier to count the people who don’t call him that. There’s one bully who takes gleeful pleasure in tearing up a drawing he’s made for Kaa-chan. A teacher sees it happen, and does nothing.

Tsuna begins to forget about the wish he’s made, on seven candles and with desperate longing. He begins to forget that there was a “Before”—that once, they had been happy.

December comes.

Snow and ice and winter cold settles over Namimori. It sinks into him, settling deep until every movement aches, until his joints creak like rusted hinges. It hurts to leave his cocoon of blankets and heat in the mornings. Kaa-chan worries.

On the 31st, minutes before the year closes, someone knocks on the door.

Kaa-chan has bundled them up on the couch, sipping hot cocoa and nibbling at the sweets they’ve spent the morning making. Thermoses of hot milk, tea, more cocoa, and soup are in arms reach. More blankets are stacked on the couch’s backrest, just in case. The TV plays a highlight reel of the year.

And someone knocks on the door.

 

.

 

Tom Marvolo Riddle dies alone—at sixteen, at nineteen, at twenty-four, at twenty-nine, at forty-one, at fifty-four, at sixty-seven. He dies surrounded by enemies and fanatics, yet still so very alone, at seventy-one. He has killed himself seven times. He has died by his own arrogance eight.

He has been born twice.

The woman who calls herself his mother tells him he is a Sky, that he should burn like hearth fire. She tells him he should be a home for his “Guardians.”

Tom can recite the definition of the word verbatim, can tell you it’s translation in nearly any language you could think of but—he doesn’t know what a home _is_. The closest thing he can think of is Hogwarts, and yet . . . Tom is sure that isn’t what she means.

She tells him they will be royalty, if only he would burn. It’s a lie the way everything that comes out of her mouth seems to be. The man who took her to his bed has a wife and a child, and has no need for more. The kingdom she longs for belongs to another, who has heirs of his own. There are no paths forward that end with her as Queen. And Tom—

Tom will not burn for someone who won’t hear him.

When he turns ten, she finally recognizes this.

In the middle of the night, she abandons him on the steps of a little house in a town he’s never heard of. Snow falls around them, turned golden by the porch lights. His ears and nose ache. An itch has taken root in the back of his throat.

“I love you,” she says, honeysweet, while her eyes look through him.

Tom Riddle could tell better lies at eleven, even before he’d learned tact.

She leaves him there, with a single, ratty suitcase filled with the possessions he cares to keep and a messenger bag filled with the papers his new guardian might need. She leaves and doesn’t look back, doesn’t hesitate. The bit that remains of Lord Voldemort makes a quiet vow to kill her if the opportunity arises. The bit that remains of the child she’s given birth to mourns. She follows the street around a corner, disappears from his sight.

He could leave, could find some deserted place, and spend his days in solitude. No one would think to look for him.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t leave. Maybe that’s why he pushes down that last bit of Lord Voldemort, and knocks. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t pull on a mask of sweet words and kind lies when Sawada Nana answers the door.

“I’m Artemis Reeves,” he tells her, “Sawada Iemitsu is my father.”

He tries to feel guilty for the ruin he’s brought to this woman’s world, but he can’t. Tom can only manage a bone-deep weariness, a dragging exhaustion that’s plagued him ever since he began to remember his old life as Tom Riddle.

“I’m sorry for the trouble.”

 

.

 

Nana wants to believe this boy is lying to her.

There is nothing of Iemitsu in the ghostly pallor of his skin or the hollow of his cheeks. His eyes are dark—not black—ashen with a gleam of color that changes with the light. His hair is black and cut short in a coarse manner that has nothing to do with style. Clearly, if he’s telling the truth, he’s like her Tsuna and takes after his mother.

She swallows, rough and choked.

That unnamed woman, who has left him on Nana’s doorstep, in the dead of night, without even checking to see what kind of person Nana was. She can’t imagine doing that to Tsuna, or any child.

Tsuna leans into her side, peeking through the blankets he’s hidden himself in to stare at their unexpected guest. The boy—Artemis, she reminds herself—pretends not to notice as he digs through his bag. A thermos of tea sits unopened in front of him. Tension straightens his spine to perfect formality as he pulls two envelopes from his bag.

“I was told to give you these first.”

He slides the envelopes across the table. Nana can’t help but stare at them in dread. One is painfully thin, the other looks like it’s been stuffed full of money. She doesn’t want to touch them. But Nana picks up the thin envelope anyway, opens it, and pulls out its contents. A paternity test, proving that this boy is Iemitsu’s son—and listing the name of that woman.

Elaide Reeves.

Nana thinks she might hate her, as she reads the sparse, hateful letter that accompanies the test.

“I can translate it for you,” offers Artemis, “if she’s forgotten to write in Japanese.”

Something rancid sours her tongue. Her hands shake and the letter wrinkles in her hands.

“No.” Nana swallows. “No, that’s not necessary.”

He’ll never see the contents of this letter, not if she can help it. She tucks away that hateful thing along with the paternity test. The envelope of money sits mockingly on the table.

“Artemis,” she pauses, laces her fingers with Tsuna’s, “do, do _you_ want to stay with us?”

He blinks. A sudden shyness seems to over take him. He looks down at his hands, pulls his sleeves down over them.

“I—I wouldn’t mind it.” He peeks up at them from under his lashes.

Tsuna squirms from his nest of blankets, pulls from her grip to scramble around the coffee table. He trips over his feet and catches himself on Artemis’s knees. From there, he stares at the older boy, eyes bright with something other than tears. His eyes are bright with a gleam Nana had feared she’d never see again.

“Does that mean you’re Tsuna’s Nii-chan?” He’s nearly vibrating in place with excitement.

Artemis blinks once, twice. Slowly, he nods.

“If that’s what you want.” He nods again. “Yes, I’m your ‘Nii-chan.’”

They share a smile.

 _A new beginning_ , she thinks with a grin. _A good one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I realize I've given Tom a background similar to Xanxus. Woops.
> 
> And yeah, I've got a problem with all of Tsuna's guardians. ALL of them.


	2. Chapter 2

A week passes.

The Sawadas are strange, Tom decides. Caught between weariness and a honeyed warmth that reminds him of softer memories: of playing chess with Lucretia Black, of teaching Barty and Bella. Of that one golden moment when seething envy had been satisfied with the world’s fear. They’re kind and welcoming but hesitant, held back by something.

It’s nothing like his first year at Hogwarts, where he was a penniless, _bloodless_ orphan with too much magic, or the cold fairytale that woman had been determined to live, no matter who had to pay for it.

He isn’t sure how he feels about it—what he _wants_ to feel about it.

“Nii-chan!” A small fist knocks rapidly on the door. “Dinner’s ready!”

“I’m coming.”

He puts away the last of the stationary Sawada Nana—Kaa-chan, she insists—has purchased him. The small guest room has been repurposed for his use, and while he’s leery of buying anything to personalize the space, Tom can’t resist having more notebooks. Over the years, he has slowly but steadily rewritten his research notes, his theorems on the delicacies of magical formulae, even a few textbooks.

It’s the only remnant of his previous life that he’s allowed himself. Magic still burns through him, settling in his veins like molten quicksilver. Tom is still beloved, the favored child, despite Lord Voldemort’s follies. But something about returning to the wizarding world unsettles him . . . perhaps he’s afraid of what he’ll find.

Has he been forgotten?

“ _Nii-chan!_ ”

With a huff that borders on laughter, Tom opens his door.

Tsuna falls through and catches himself on Tom’s taller frame, arms wrapping around his waist in a hug. He grins up at him with only a small echo of unease in his eyes.

It bothers him that he doesn’t know the cause of that unease. That he doesn’t know what triggers to avoid or what words will make them love him.

Hogwarts had been easy, once he’d learned the value of sweet words. Kind Tom Riddle, a prodigy but so humble, had been beloved by all. He doesn’t have the energy or desire to return to that lie. But the real him is jagged sharp and only knows how to be kind with poison on his tongue. Experience has taught him that no one can love that.

Experience has also taught him that using legilimency on people you want to trust you is ill-advised. And a quiet instinct in the back of his mind says that Tsuna and Nana will _know_ if he does. But Tom has a deep want to know the root of their unease. Do they secretly resent that he’s here, that he’s intruded into their private world?

He doesn’t know how to ask.

Tsuna pulls away, grabs his hand. He lets the child lead him through the house as he chatters about some TV show, and to the dining table. It’s an oversized thing, painfully large for a family of two. Most of the furniture in this house is designed for a large family.

It’s another thing that troubles him. The expectation of _more_ when there isn’t a whisper of Sawada Iemitsu’s presence in this house. No postcards or gifts, no clothes, no hidden stash of weapons or documents. This is a household that consists solely of a mother and her son.

The wizarding world has deeply influenced his limited knowledge of “family.” Blood and kin come before all. Sawada Iemitsu isn’t dead.

And yet, _he isn’t here_.

Sawada expects his family to still love him, to _still want_ him even after he’s trapped them in a pretty cage and _left_? He’s left them trapped in a world that abhors those who exist beyond their limits, who burn despite being smothered—and he expects their love.

Like so many had left little mudblood Riddle to suffer his housemates’ mercies and expected kindness in turn.

Tom’s mind catches on that thought. They are the same—abandoned, expected to suffer prettily for their tormentors’ amusements and then, to die quietly. To be _content_ with being forgotten.

A creeping blackness, heady in its greed, coils up his spine and burns through his veins like venom. A forgotten dream, quickly discarded in his first childhood, surfaces. An orphan’s longing for acceptance and kinship.

Maybe, for these two, he could learn what Lucretia and Ignatius, what Barty and Bella— _what Potter_ —had tried to teach him. Maybe this time with his soul whole, if not hale, he would understand, could change. Maybe, a darker part hopes, he won’t have to.

He’ll have to be careful, gentle, like he was before Bella and Barty developed their fangs.

You can break other people, his observations have taught him, but not family.

He smiles at Kaa-chan, a touch too sharp but genuine.

 

.

 

Tsuna doesn’t want to go back to school.

And why would he? At school, he has nothing and learns nothing. Every question is ignored or scoffed at, mocked. Kaa-chan and Nii-chan don’t do that.

Nii-chan is always willing to teach him things, about the stars or plants or anything else Tsuna can think of. And he knows lots of stories, too—of magic and secret worlds and impossible things made real. Tsuna is certain there is nothing his Nii-chan doesn’t know.

Kaa-chan teaches him things, too. She lets him sit on the counter and watch her cook, tells him _why_ she’s doing things as she is. How cutting meat _this_ way is better than _that_ way. The difference between milliliters and cups and teaspoons. How to hold a knife steady, so you won’t cut yourself.

Tsuna has learned more in the handful of days they’ve had together than he has at school since the year has started. He doesn’t want to go _back_.

He doesn’t want to leave Kaa-chan to her quiet grieving of yet another lie from that man. They’ve been married longer than Tsuna has been alive, and yet! Never once has that man mentioned another woman. That man should have said something! Even now, he’s ignoring Kaa-chan’s calls.

He doesn’t want to leave Nii-chan to the dark thing haunting him. Doesn’t want to leave him alone with whatever is it that turns his eyes distant and cold and _confused_ whenever Kaa-chan hugs him or Tsuna grabs his hand—as if he’s never seen how family interacts and doesn’t know what to do with what he’s seeing.

Tsuna tries to be—not loud but _here_. Tries to push through the cold haze so that they don’t get lost, too. Tries to be warm again.

And sometimes, he thinks there’s an answering warmth. When Kaa-chan steadies his hand as he measures out flour. When Nii-chan lets him lean into his side as he reads from a worn book of fairytales. It sits just under Tsuna’s skin, bright and bubbly and a hundred other happy things.

He wonders if they can feel it too. Those short bursts of happiness—as if nothing could go wrong. He thinks they might.

Kaa-chan sits by the phone less, on those days. Doesn’t wait for someone who was never there in the first place. She takes them shopping, for food and things for Nii-chan. They even go to a tiny teahouse Tsuna swears wasn’t there before but looks older than the local shrine.

Streamers of every color Tsuna can think of hang from the ceiling, glittering gold or silver in the low light. There are statues and paintings of all the magical creatures Nii-chan has told him about. Their yellow-eyed hostess seats them under a huge painting of an orange firebird. She smiles toothily and promises the special when Kaa-chan asks.

“It’s been years since I came here last!” Kaa-chan laughs and tries to smooth down a wild tuff of Tsuna’s hair. “I can’t believe I forgot about it!”

“Forgot?” Something tense and—unhappy? Angry?—twists Nii-chan’s expression. As if he thought Kaa-chan forgetting this place wasn’t normal.

Tsuna looks around, tries to see what Nii-chan does. The place is pretty and worn in the way loved things are, but it’s just a teahouse. A woman two tables down laughs with a voice like rolling waves, eyeshadow glinting like pearly scales in the soft light.

“Yes.” A sad smile crosses her face. “I used to come here all the time with a friend. She loved this place—said it reminded her of home.”

“Have I met her?”

She settles an arm around Tsuna’s shoulders, looks at Nii-chan like she wants to do the same to him. But Nii-chan is picky about being touched, so she doesn’t.

“No. Anko-chan and I got into an awful fight when I got engaged to your Tou-san . . . maybe she was right.” Her eyes go distant for a heartbeat before she shakes herself and smiles. “But if I’d listened I wouldn’t have my boys!”

She pulls them in for a hug, giggling softly.

Nii-chan has the carefully blank look he always gets when she does things like this, placid and polite with eyes a touch too wild to be either, but he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t smile or laugh. Instead, bit by bit, he leans into her hug, lets the blankness fade into something that makes the bubbly warmth rise up to settle near Tsuna’s lungs.

In the low light, somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, Tsuna swears Nii-chan’s eyes gleam amber.

Reluctantly, Kaa-chan ends the hug. There’s something sad in her smile when Nii-chan pulls away that confuses Tsuna.

The special is sweet and warm, and Kaa-chan is only a little teary-eyed when Nii-chan quietly asks if they can visit the teahouse again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO GUESS WHAT!?!?
> 
> _I lost my notes for this fic._
> 
> So, we're in "seat of my pants" territory now. Not particularly happy about it, but at least I sorta remember where I wanted to go with this. so there's _that_ at least. I guess. Maybe.
> 
> (i'm so sorry about the wait)


	3. Chapter 3

Nana goes downstairs the morning Tsuna’s winter holiday ends and finds Artemis shivering on the back porch, arms curled around something white and rope-like. His head is bent over whatever he’s holding, and Nana thinks she can see his mouth moving. He’s smiling.

She pauses at the kitchen’s entrance and stares.

It’s an odd sight. Artemis isn’t fond of the cold or mornings—his grim disgust with the morning newscasters’ cheer is _adorable_ —yet here he is, wide awake and on the back porch. Her eyes narrow, catching on an upsetting detail. Artemis is on the porch, out in the cold and _barefoot_. Worry knots in her stomach.

Quickly, Nana ducks into the kitchen to start the kettle then hurries to the backdoor. Harsh, cold air rushes into the house, heavy and damp. It will rain today. Artemis doesn’t look up when she opens it. Nana wraps her dressing gown snug around her body then steps out onto the porch.

“Artemis.”

Nana places a gentle hand on his shoulder. She swallows down the well of sadness at the sudden tenseness in his shoulders and the careful, placid expression he has when he looks up.

“Artemis, it’s the middle of winter,” she says, “come inside.”

He blinks up at her, arms curling tighter around his bundle while he pulls it closer as if to hide it. She can’t tell what it is, but Nana is more concerned with the bluish tinge in his fingertips and toes.

“I—” He looks down briefly, chews his lip. “Alright.”

Artemis wobbles to his feet, wincing at his stiff joints. Nana keeps her hand on his shoulder and hurries him into the house. She has him wrapped in two blankets and wearing several pairs of socks before she’s satisfied.

The kettle whistles.

Nana enters her kitchen. She turns off the stove, and takes down their cups from where they’re hanging over the tea canisters. White for her, orange for Tsuna, and grey for Artemis. She chooses a strong black tea to go with the cranberry and chocolate scones Tsuna had helped her make the other day—Artemis’s request.

Artemis takes his cup with a quiet, “thank you.”

Nana takes a seat on the couch next to him, settles the plate of scones between them, and sips at her tea. It’s only then that she remembers he’s holding something.

“What did you find?” There’s no blame in her voice when she asks, but Artemis tense as if she’s accusing him.

He burrows deeper into the blankets, mumbling. The blankets shift. A thin snout pokes out of the pile. The rest of the head follows, slowly, swaying as the snake scents the air. The snake is a buttery white with little strips of pale orange, and dark pink eyes.

Nana stills, eyeing it carefully. It doesn’t seem hostile and its movement is sluggish, but . . .

“Artemis?”

“His name is Orion.” He cups the snake’s head and draws it back into his mound of blankets. The snake slips through his fingers to rub its—his—head against Artemis’s chin. “He isn’t venomous or aggressive. I know how to take care of him and—”

“Isn’t he supposed to be hibernating?”

Artemis blinks at her, eyes wide. The snake turns to stare at her, too.

“Yes.” He swallows. “I think he was raised in captivity.”

There’s something in his voice—like an echo of experience, she thinks, stomach twisting—that makes her stop, makes something in her boil. A fine, boiling temper she hasn’t felt since Iemitsu and his boss’s visit. Tsuna had gotten sick and Iemitsu had just _left_ , three days ahead of schedule, as if his son had nothing to do with him. Tsuna never really recovered from that bout of fever. Nana hadn’t either. She doesn’t know what his life with Elaide Reeves was like, but Artemis is hers now.

And Nana is _sick_ of people walking over _her family_ as if they meant nothing.

“What do you think of looking for a terrarium for him after we’re done signing you up for school?”

Artemis tries to hide his smile behind his cup.

 

.

 

Namimori Elementary’s gates are covered in a thin layer of frost and, despite the early hour, students crisscross the grounds, clumping together then breaking apart again in a fixed pattern that speaks of drills and military precision. Each student wears a red armband and the beginnings of an odd hairstyle.

Tsuna turns towards the school, chatting cheerfully with Artemis about the fantasy novel they’ve started reading. He catches sight of the odd students and his voice falls away. His hand tenses in hers, trembles.

Nana dislikes them immediately.

She tightens her hold on Tsuna’s hand. Straightens up in a way she hasn’t since her grandfather walked her down the aisle, happily untouchable. Artemis is another wall on Tsuna’s other side. They pass through the courtyard. One student moves closer like they’re going to stop them, but backs down when they can’t hold Artemis’s stare.

It’s surreal, and nothing like Nana remembers elementary being.

The main office is empty expect for a single secretary. Her faces starts to sour when she notices them but quickly twists into a smile. It looks painful.

“Sawada-san!” she greets. “Are you here to talk about Tsunayoshi-kun’s grades? Sanada-sensei hasn’t arrived yet, but you’re welcome to wait.” She gestures to a line of sad looking, beige chairs. One has a large crack and a brownish stain.

“Oh, no. We’re here to finish registering Artemis! Sohma-sensei set up a placement test?”

The secretary doesn’t manage to school her expression quickly enough to hide her sneer.

Nana forces herself to keep smiling. She wishes there was another elementary close by, so her boys didn’t have to suffer these people. Wishes the school board would _listen_ when she and other parents complained about the staff’s behavior. Wishes Iemitsu would pick up a damn phone once in a while, because no one in this town wanted to listen to a single mother, married or not.

“Right.” The secretary leafs through a stack of folders, pulling out a folder that looks far too thick to be a simple review. She places it on the raised counter. With a simpering, mocking smile, she says, “Will you need someone to read the questions for you, Artemis-kun?”

Something sharp twists in Nana’s gut.

Artemis blinks at her.

“That’s unnecessary, Madame.” He picks up the folder and plucks a pen from a nearby cup. “By the way, for your crossword puzzle?” A slow cold smile crosses his face. “The word you’re looking for is incompetent.”

Ignoring the woman’s sputtering, Artemis ruffles Tsuna’s hair.

“I’ll see you after school, okay?”

“Okay, Nii-chan.”

The ice fades from his smile. He looks up at her.

“The test shouldn’t take long—maybe an hour or two?” There’s a soft undercurrent of hesitation.

Nana smiles.

“I’ll be waiting when you’re finished.”

He nods shyly, pats Tsuna’s head again, and disappears into the conference room the secretary points him towards. Tsuna sits with her until the first bell rings, puzzling through one of his schoolbooks while she reads forums about keeping pet snakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!
> 
> Before you worry too much, Tom experience with captivity is from the horcrux that was in Harry Potter and not from anything that happened with Elaide Reeves. He vaguely remembers what the horcruxes experienced (from their point of view), and while the scar!horcrux wasn't really awake by any means, it was aware enough to kinda sorta know what Harry went through, if that makes sense. Sorta like a half-remembered dream?
> 
> Orion is a Japanese rat snake, by the way.


	4. Chapter 4

While Nana gets Tsuna ready for bed, Tom settles onto a spare pillow in his room. Orion winds around him, half draped on Tom’s shoulders and half on the bed, snout tucked between the coils of his body and Tom’s neck. Tom sighs, leans against the bed’s edge.

It’s been ages since he’s carried the weight of a serpent across his shoulders, since he’s had to smother his amusement at their bloodthirsty suggestions and keep from making his own. Voldemort had stopped seeking out serpentine companionship after his fourth Horcrux. Later, Nagini had kept to herself, rarely bothering with conversation. And that woman was afraid of reptiles, and always threatened to kill any Tom snuck into his room.

He’s missed this.

“ _Emperor_ ,” Orion hisses into his neck, “ _your nest is warmer. Why are you on the ground?_ ”

“ _I’m going to clean my fangs_.” Tom doesn’t bother with a human tongue in the relative safety of his room. Nana is safely distracted with Tsuna, and Tom doubts Tsuna would find parseltongue scary, not when he spent so long petting Orion this afternoon.

“ _Clean your fangs? This one doesn’t understand._ ”

“ _That’s fine._ ” He smiles, petting Orion’s scales. Tom isn’t surprised. Before now, the serpent hasn’t had anything to do with magic, and a serpent’s fangs don’t require much upkeep. “ _Keep watch for me?_ ”

“ _Yes._ ”

Taking a deep breath, Tom closes his eyes. Falling into a meditative state is easier than he remembers it being in his previous life—Voldemort had needed to spend hours doing what takes Tom barely a handful of minutes. Further proof of his previous arrogance, he supposes. Horcruxes had been a truly awful idea. Even now, ten years after his reincarnation, his soul is still ravaged.

Another deep breath calls up his Occlumency barriers. He lets himself lose track of his body, sinking into his mind until he’s sitting on stone and Orion’s weight is missing. A pillar is at his back. Tom opens his eyes to the Chamber of Secrets.

Slytherin’s statue is gone, replaced by a towering waterfall spilling over a rock face of jagged obsidian and into an eerie amber pool, its depths flickering with the molten hues of fire whiskey. The hall’s pillars reach up into the night sky. Stars are hidden behind swirling storm clouds of magic, dark sooty grey shot through with flecks of amber. The air is still and heavy, with an undercurrent of rot.

Slowly, Tom stands.

He moves to a festering gash—one of several that cut through the Chamber, oozing with rotted magic. The one at his feet is an ugly mottled yellow, and thicker than the width of his splayed fingers. It’s shrunk since the last time he’s checked. A good sign, he hopes. Tom checks the others, each glowing a different sickly hue, and finds they’ve shrunk as well. They are still larger than he’d like, but the improvement is undeniable.

What remains of his Horcruxes is healing. He still has years to go before his soul is fully restored, before he once again can wield magic with the careless ease of his first childhood. But he’s getting there.

It’s a lovely thought.

Smiling, Tom walks through his mind palace, sorting memories and adjusting defenses as he goes. A varnish of knife-point agony here and there. Strengthens the siren’s call of the amber pool, adds more false memories and a compulsion to reach into its depths. Places a new hidden alcove, filled with empty cubbyholes waiting for new memories, down a curling path. This, he decides, is where he’ll keep his memories of Tsuna and Nana. Safe and hidden.

Satisfied with his work, Tom goes to hunt down his memories of warding and similar spells.

 

.

 

The boys are at school when Nana lets impulse seize her. She’s going to call Anko.

It takes her longer than she’d like to find her old friend’s phone number. It takes longer still before Nana can work up the courage to use it. Years have passed, and their argument had been awful—was it really alright for her to bother Anko after all this time? Was it okay for her to hope that she’d be forgiven? To hope that there was still a place for her in Anko’s life?

This swirling doubt nearly causes her to hang up. She hesitates, hands shaking, teeth digging into her lip, as the dial drones in her ear. Fiddles with her list of errands. What if, _what if_ —

“Hello?”

Nana’s nose tingles, starting at the tip and reaching up towards her eyes, the first sign of tears. She takes a shuddering breath.

“Hi Anko,” she whispers, knuckles clenched white around the counter’s edge.

“Nana?” A pause. “I—how—I’ve, uh . . . I mean—are you okay?”

Nana tries to smother her weak chuckles behind a hand as they turn into wet, shaking gasps. Why had it taken her so long to even think of this? To even consider reaching out and trying to mend bridges? Anko had been— _is_ her best friend and yet, Nana had ignored her for half a decade. She swallows down the urge to cry in earnest.

“I miss you.” She sucks in a deep breath, chokes back the lump in her throat.

“Na—”

“And I’m sorry. I . . . you were right, in the end.” It hurts to say it. Not because she doesn’t believe it’s true—oh, she _does_ —but because of what it means for her and Iemitsu.

The world blurs behind tears.

“Kirijo.” Anko’s voice is like iron. Her eyes close. This is it then, she thinks, the final nail. At least Nana can say she tried. “ _Nothing_ about what happen was your fault.”

What? Nana sinks into a chair.

“I was angry and—angry, and I took it out on you, when I shouldn’t have. Okay?” Anko sighs. “Okay?”

“But—”

“No,” Anko snaps. She sighs again. Softly goes on. “Look, back then? I overstepped. I thought that—I don’t know what I thought. But I was wrong, okay?”

A dam cracks, breaks under the torrent of frustration and guilt and longing fighting for dominance.

“ _You weren’t_! He promised he wouldn’t be like my mother but—” She breaks off, tears dripping down her cheeks. Roughly wipes them away. “He never writes, doesn’t call. The last time he was home was years ago. And Tsu—Tsuna _doesn’t remember_ what he looks like.” Another wet sniffle. “We should’ve slowed down, thought things through more. And—”

Nana doesn’t hate Artemis, doesn’t blame him at all. He’s only a boy, and she doesn’t believe in a child inheriting their parents’ sins. But she’s so afraid—of failing Tsuna again, of doing the wrong thing, of not being _enough_ for any of them. Of what it means for Iemitsu to have another child out in the world that he’s never said anything about.

“I don’t think I can do this on my own anymore.” The words taste bitter.

The line is silent for long enough that Nana wonders if she’s said anything at all, or maybe Anko hung up without her realizing it.

“Do you still live in Namimori?”

“I—yes.”

“Next weekend,” Anko says, slowly, “I’ll come down and we’ll talk. Okay? But—I can’t promise more than that. Is that alright?”

“Yes. Yes, thank you.” Nana manages a wobbly smile.

“And Nana?”

“Hm?”

“I missed you, too.”

They talk for a bit longer before Anko has to leave for work. Through it all, quite happy tears drip down Nana’s cheeks.

 

.

 

There’s something chasing him.

It’s huge, bigger than anything he’s ever seen before, and its footsteps shake the ground as it runs after him.

His lungs burn but he can’t slow down, can’t let it catch him. He doesn’t know what’ll happen if it does, but he doesn’t want to find out. Knows he won’t recover from it.

Another world-shaking footstep. Something brushes the back of his neck.

Tsuna throws himself around a corner, wheezes a scream that rings in his chest but doesn’t make a sound.

He wants Kaa-chan, wants Nii-chan. Wants to be somewhere else— _anywhere else_ —if it means the monster can’t reach him.

Tsuna keeps running. Passed locked doors, open rooms, and gaping dark cracks in the walls. He runs and runs.

Slowly, the ground stops shaking. The monster stops chasing him. Does that mean it’s over?

He collapses against a wall, trembling. Chokes on sobs as he gulps down air. Sinks to his knees and tries to hold himself together. He wants to go home.

Burning fingers close around his neck from behind, nails biting through skin, and Tsuna screams.

Tsuna wakes tangled in sweat soaked sheets, his cheek pressed against the carpet of his floor. His head is pounding. Everything aches as if he’s a brittle doll that’s been thrown down one too many staircases, and littered with cracks. His throat throbs around each gasp of air. Tears burn his eyes. It’s _so cold_.

He fights his way out of the tangle of sheets, shivering as if he’s going to break apart. He changes out of his drenched pajamas. Hovers at his door then pushes it open. He tip-toes through the halls and hesitates at an unadorned door, a shaking hand raised.

Maybe, maybe he should go back to bed. He’s seven, after all, and he doesn’t need to be coddled. He isn’t a baby despite what his classmates say, but he wants—

The door opens. Nii-chan blinks blearily at him, listing against the door as if carrying his own weight is too much effort. A red imprint of a pillow is pressed into his face. Tsuna’s hand drops.

“Tsuna?” he slurs.

They stare at each other. Nii-chan seems to become more aware with each blink, gaze sharpening until he’s frowning at the tremor in Tsuna’s hands. Tsuna tries to stop the tremors, but that just makes it worse.

“What’s wrong?”

He sinks his teeth into his lip.

“I—never mind.” Tsuna stares at his feet and starts to go back to his room.

Cold fingers close around his hand, firm but loose enough that Tsuna can pull away if he wants to.

“Tsuna.” Nii-chan doesn’t continue, just meets Tsuna’s gaze. Patient and steady, unmoved by the turmoil in Tsuna’s head—waiting.

A tiny whimper. Tsuna almost doesn’t realize it came from him.

“I had a nightmare,” he says. “Is it—can I . . .”

“Of course.”

Nii-chan tugs gently on his hand, leading Tsuna through his room. He can make out the pale glimmer of Orion’s scales on Nii-chan’s pillows, instead of in the tank where he should be. Maybe he was cold, too. Nii-chan looks back and notices his staring.

“I can put him back if it bothers you.”

“No, it’s okay.”

They get in bed, wrapping themselves in heavy blankets. Orion drapes himself over Nii-chan’s shoulders and around his neck like a living scarf. His tongue flicks over Tsuna’s fingers when he reaches over to pet him. A tiny smile, wobbly but there, curls his lips.

“Can you tell me a story?” he asks, still petting Orion.

“A story?”

“A special one.” An idea occurs to him. “One where the hero is like Nii-chan!”

This startles a laugh out of his brother.

“Those are called horror stories, Tsuna, and I don’t think you want to hear one.”

“You’re not scary.”

“I can name a lot of people who don’t agree with you.” Nii-chan pulls his blanket higher. “But a special story, huh? I think I’ve got one.”

Tsuna shifts closer, curls a hand in Nii-chan’s shirt.

“Once, there was a strangely normal family who lived on a boring street in England. The father worked all day selling drills, and the mother stayed at home looking after their son. Their lives were perfectly normal, exactly as they wanted it to be. They were called the Dursleys, and they had a secret.

“One morning, Mrs. Dursley opened the front door to fetch the milk and found a baby on the doorstep. There was a letter with him, telling her that this was her sister’s son, and that she and her husband were dead. The baby’s name was Harry Potter, and for ten long years, he slept in the cupboard under the stairs—”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attention please!
> 
> So, out of curiosity, how many of you would be fine if Hearth Fire just focused on Tom, Tsuna, and Nana’s relationship? And having a sequel that deals with KHR canon proper? ‘Cause I’m really enjoying writing the slow build-up of their relationships, but I’ve got people asking about things that are super far down the pipeline and I just—I don’t want to make promises for things that I won’t be writing for a long while.
> 
> Hearth Fire = T-N-T family feels
> 
> Sequel = canon proper
> 
> y/n?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Jack Sparrow voice*: but why is it _purple_?

He breathes in on a four count, holds it, and then exhales on another four count. The group hovering around him continues chattering, volume rising. Something touches his neck. His teeth grind painfully as he holds back the urge to start cursing—in both senses of the word.

Tom had forgotten how irritating children could be. So much noise, so much touching, so much _everything_. Clearly, he’d been spoiled by Tsuna. Somehow, he could read Tom’s moods and knew when he couldn’t handle too much noise. Tsuna is hardly a quiet child but—

A girl shrieks, voice ringing at the exact pitch of nails on a chalkboard. He flinches.

Was homeschooling still an option? Tom could blitzes through that easily, could have time to do what he wanted, when he wanted. Maybe he could start teaching Tsuna? There are little science experiments they could do with Nana. That might be fun. Maybe start with dyeing protein and cellulose fibers then—

A hand grips his shoulder, shakes him. He takes another measured breath.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!”

Tom stares at the pouting child in front of him and tries not to bare his teeth. This isn’t Hogwarts. They’re just children, no matter how annoying they are. Nothing has happened that warrants pulling out the nastier aspects of his personality. Behind him, something crashes to the ground. A swell of throbbing pain blooms in his head.

Why can’t they _be quiet?_

“Ye _s?_ ” He draws out the word, nearly slipping into parseltongue.

“What’s your favorite Pokémon?” The child—male, brown hair and eyes, boring face—grins.

Something in Tom’s brain trips.

“My what?” What is a Pokémon and why should he care?

The child falters. He looks as confused as Tom feels.

“You—you know, the game? Pokémon?”

Tom doesn’t know. He hasn’t bothered much with pop culture, preferring to study history and read scientific papers when he isn’t working on his research journals.  It’s a code he hasn’t bothered learning to crack.

“Sorry, but no.” Will they leave him alone once they realize how “boring” he is? He hopes so.

In hopes of ending the conversation faster, Tom pulls out the boxed lunch Nana handed him this morning. Having someone who cares enough to make sure he eats is an odd experience. Lucretia used to try, dragging him to lunch and dinner when she could find him. When she graduated, she forced the task on her cousin Alphard, and that had been the end of it. Tom’s dorm mates had been too afraid to try making demands of him. He wonders if this will last long enough for him to get used to it again.

Tom takes off the elastic strap holding it closed then removes the upper tier. It holds sliced chicken, pear tomatoes, apple slices, a container of some kind of sauce, and two pieces of candy. The lower tier is filled with leftover vegetable rice from last night’s dinner, with extra carrots cut to look like stars. It’s—cute.

A ten-year-old Tom Riddle would _hate_ it. Would think that he was being mocked or belittled. Now, however, he has to blink against an odd burn behind his eyes.

They’re just stars. They are _just stars_ , and yet—

“Oh!” The brat leans closer. “What do ya got?”

“Nothing I’m sharing,” Tom snaps before he can stop himself. His fingers curl possessively around the box.

“Jeeze, I was just asking.” The friendliness melts off of the brat’s face. _Finally._ “Take a pill.” He slinks away, muttering to himself, and joins a group clustering around another unfortunate soul.

Tom forces himself to just breathe. Staring at his desk, not really thinking as he toys with the utensil holder. Even that is—he still has trouble with chopsticks. The holder as a small fork and spoon, in addition to the set of collapsible chopsticks.

He doesn’t know what to think, beyond—this is nice.

He’s left alone to eat in peace.

 

.

 

It’s raining when they walk home, a heavy downpour that keeps them huddled under their shared umbrella as it beats at the flimsy fabric. Tsuna has an iron hold on his coat sleeve. He keeps making them slow down so he can carefully edge around any puddles in their path. Their elbows knock together. A thin mist rolls lazily through the streets.

The heavy weight of hostile eyes lances into their backs. Tsuna doesn’t notices. Tom does.

Tom scowls as the damp cold seeps through his coat, into his boots, as it tries to reach his bones. He just wants to go home, curl under a ton of blankets with Orion, and drink tea. He isn’t in the mood for this.

They picked up their stalker three streets ago, as they left the main street leading to Namimori Elementary and entered the slow commercial district between that lead to their neighborhood. Whoever it is, they’re young enough to blend into the crowd of parents and higher grade teenagers coming to pick up their elementary student. If he could just get a good look behind him . . .

Tom looks around, searching for anything he can use. Ahead of them is a little curio store. Its display has little figurines of brightly colored creatures. Something about it itches at his brain, reminding him of lunch and that brat. Huh. He plans to ask about that anyway, so—

“What’s Pokémon?”

Tsuna squints up at him. His cheeks, ears, and nose have begun to turn red. He’s shivering worse than Tom is.

“Pokémon?” He wrinkles his nose, sniffles. “Is that not a thing in Europe?”

“It might be. I just lived under a rock.”

“Okay.” He frowns. Tsuna stops walking, making Tom stop with him.

Tom uses the opportunity to adjust the umbrella, switching hands and tilting it so he can sweep a look over the street behind them. No one reads as suspicious. It’s just parents and students. Nothing is out of place. A blond teenager shoves his hand into his pocket, pulls out a carton of cigarettes and lighter. A lady sneers, ushering her children past.

The weight of the hostile stare doesn’t waver. Whoever it is, they aren’t afraid of getting caught. How worrisome.

“It’s a game, mostly,” Tsuna says. Tom turns back to him. “I mean, there’s a TV show but the game’s more popular, I think? Uh, you catch these creatures called Pokémon and you battle with them to become the Pokémon Champion!” A bright, beaming smile. “I have a level 99 Eevee. I couldn’t decide what to evolve her as, so I didn’t. Her name’s Natsuko! She’s super cute!”

Tom blinks, nods slowly. He thinks he understands.

“Oh, yeah. There are snake Pokémon! One’s purple.”

“. . . Purple.” Tom nods again. “Alright.” Why is it _purple?_

“I can show you when we get home!”

Tsuna bounces on his heels, eyes bright and hopeful, smile wide and genuine. It makes several decisions for Tom.

He smiles back.

“Then let’s go.”

Their stalker leaves a street later.

 

.

 

A click then dial tone. Nana sets the phone in its cradle, takes a moment to center herself, and then picks up the phone again.

For the past two hours, she’s called Iemitsu’s office trying to get a hold of her husband. Sometimes, one of the snooty secretaries picks up just to dismiss her as if she’s a stray begging for scraps. Sometimes, they don’t answer at all. Her jaw aches from grinding her teeth.

Outside, the light drizzle picks up. It grows from heavy mist to the beginnings of a downpour. She grimaces. It’s going to get colder, too, if the meteorologist is correct. Might even snow.

The dial tone continues.

She’ll make soup for dinner, she decides. And she bought those cute, little thermoses—she’ll use those in the boys’ lunches this week. Orange slices or tangerines, too. Maybe ginger chicken or . . . oh! She can put it in the rice. And spiced ginger cookies! Tsuna can help her with those, if he’s feeling up to it. Nana writes up a to-do list, checks that she has everything she’ll need.

And still, no one answers. One of those times, then.

Nana could hang up, try again later, but she’s angry. They know who she is—they’ve admitted as much—but they won’t let her speak to her own husband. They can’t even give her a good reason for it. It would be one thing if Iemitsu wasn’t at the office, but he’s an early riser and he takes his job seriously. Too seriously, even. And they can’t claim he’s too low-rung to start his day at the office when the company’s CEO followed him home to meet his family.

Nana _knows_ he’s there and she _will_ speak with him. All the secretaries have to do is their job. That’s it. She doesn’t think they will.

Someone picks up on the other end. Nana sucks in a breath to start making her demands. They hang up.

The phone creaks in her hand. Her arm trembles. Slowly, she takes the phone from her ear, delicately places it in its cradle, and tries not to scream. She leans forward until she can rest her forehead on the cool tile of the kitchen counter.

Nana doesn’t have words for how much she hates Iemitsu’s coworkers. Doesn’t have words for the rancid, oily mess churning in her stomach and creeping up her throat. Really, she shouldn’t be surprised. The few she’s met since her wedding day all had the same flippant attitude. Thin smiles worn like cheap veneer, like that could keep her from noticing how their eyes look through her as if she isn’t there.

She hates them.

Nana pushes herself up. Close her eyes and breathes. She doesn’t want to be angry.

Well, if she’s making soup for dinner, Nana might as well make bread to go with it! She can burn off some of her frustration while kneading it.

Her boys come home just as she’s setting the bread aside for the first proof. They’re shivering, pant legs drenched. Tsuna sniffles as he monologues about Pokémon and why it’s awesome.

Artemis sighs.

“But the snake is purple,” he says in a near whine. “Snakes aren’t purple, Tsuna.”

He hangs up their coats, hooks the umbrella over a free hanger. Nana makes a note to buy another umbrella, maybe two.

Tsuna huffs. He peels off his rain boots.

“Foxes can’t breathe fire either, Nii-chan. And mice can’t electrocute you.”

“Static electricity.”

Tsuna pouts.

“Once you see ‘em, you’ll believe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While looking through the pokedex, Tom spots Mimikyu:  
> Pokedex: an eldritch abomination hiding behind a friendly facade  
> Tom: that's me  
> Tsuna + Nana: ??? no??? its not???  
> Tom: me


End file.
